Amendment One
by Albrecht Starkarm
Summary: Censorship can strike anywhere. Literally.


We tumble into the room together, her hand lashing out to slap absently at the toggle upon the peeling wallpaper, a momentous welter of blinding luminosity washing over us as a vibrant incandescence begins to stream from the cracked and dilapidated fixture overhead. I barely notice it, my lips crushing upon hers- it's a demanding, unrelenting embrace, my tongue gliding and twining with her own. It's extraordinary, this soaring passion that cascades through me, my mind overcome by a gauzy mist of boiling lust.

Her eyes bore into mine, heavily-lidded, a limpid emerald; her lips part with a quiet gasp as we separate for a brief instant. I feel her hands upon my hips, gliding along my waist, across my shoulders. We kiss, again, with a surging intensity; I tug and claw at the abrasive cotton fabric of her shirt, deep sea-green, striated with shocks of ebony, a wry suggestion of her more revealing bodysuit. I can feel the satin perfection of her flesh beneath my caress, my fingertips gliding reverently across the swaths of skin exposed by my roving hands.

"C'mon, Princess." She cocks her head illustratively towards the single mattress at the center of the decrepit, nineteen-seventies shag carpeting that superlatively accents the sordid quality of this dingy love hotel. It's not as if the accommodations are of any interest; the beauty clasped in my embrace, my teeth fastened upon her ear, is my sole concern. Her tone is harsh, ragged, husky; I feel her chest begin to heave, her heart throbbing, as my hands finally ease toward that full, swollen splendor of her breasts. They're wondrous, pendulous, her nipples beginning to pebble against my palms as-

The door slams open, and I start; I was certain that they locked automatically. Both Shego and I turn at once to the intruder, preparing a suitably unpleasant greeting. He's not an archetypal thug or thief, however; he's a slim, dull, darkly-complected gentleman, his charcoal-gray suit and severely-cropped black hair implying a stereotypical salaryman.

"Ah, good evening, you two." He bows with a forced politeness. He brandishes a business card with one cautiously-outstretched hand, though I bat it away.

"What the hell do you want?" Shego snaps; I can feel the concentrated fury boiling from her, her aura swelling to a seething emerald mist of pure hatred.

"I am very sorry for any inconvenience," he begins with an apologetic smile, "But I'm afraid that I can't allow you to continue."

"What?" I choke out, absolutely incredulous. "Continue what?"

"Well, I was watching on a monitor that some kind citizen graciously installed in your room, and-"

"You were watching us?" We reply in unison, voices rising to irate shouts.

"Well, it's policy, you see. And, I'm afraid, no matter our opinion in the matter..." Who the hell are they? "No matter our opinion, we're concerned that someone could be offended by viewing what's happening in your room."

"We didn't invite anyone to watch." I snap.

"Well, yes, be that as it may. But, you see, there are a number of channels here that grant glimpses of certain... Programming. And this room is on the list."

"Surely, they don't need to view us." Shego seems startlingly rational, for once; she hasn't lopped off his head with a swift stroke of her talons.

"That would seem logical, wouldn't it? Unfortunately, due to a complaint from the parent of a child that somehow managed to ignore the ratings that we've attached to the monitors, we've needed to be very, very cautious about how we allow human beings to act."

"So, enforce the ratings, jackass." Shego snorts.

"Well, yes, but that could affect advertising, and maybe even offend someone, so we really-"

"Get the hell out of our room!" I can't tolerate this madness any longer. Advertising? Offend someone? It's reality.

"Yes, I suppose that I could, but..." He gestures to me, and I feel an inexplicable sense of loss as that blazing, pulsating heat within me begins to wither and falter.

"W-what the hell?" I peel away my trousers, and I begin to scream as I discover the truth: I'm a Barbie doll. There's merely a formless mound.

"Holy fucking shit!" Shego gapes, and inspects herself; rather than that beauteous feminine heat, surmounted by a fine fringe of black curls, there's simply that undefined contour.

"So, you see, I'm afraid that, if you stay here, it wouldn't be that enjoyable, in any event..." He bows, and retreats. "So very sorry. You can't violate our terms, to which you agreed, I'm sure, when you paid for your room." The door clatters closed behind him.

"It- it's okay, Shego. I mean, I know that you can have an orgasm just from my voice, so..." I draw nearer, conjuring my narrative focus, my tone dipping to a sultry whisper. "I'm sure that if I just tell you how I'd love to kneel before you, parting your-" The door is heaved open again, and the salaryman rematerializes, brandishing another vaguely abashed grin.

"I'm sorry, but explicit sexual content of any sort is not allowed. You could tell your lover how much you enjoy kissing her, but anything more is-"

"Get out of here!" I yelp. "Shego, I'm going to tell you how I'll fuck you with my-" My mouth suddenly slams closed of its own volition upon my tongue, and I bite back a groan of anguish at the sudden burst of concentrated pain.

"That would violate our terms-of-use. I'm so sorry." He grins vacuously; his humanity has conspicuously evaporated, merely a fragile trace of life coldly glinting in those dark eyes.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Shego blazes. "Just what can we do, then, huh? So, no sex, no talking about sex? Isn't that positive, and healthy?"

"Oh, very. Studies indicate that sexually open and normal adults will experience an infinitely more fulfilling life, and be less prone to violence and violent impulses." He doesn't seem to register that Shego is presently entertaining those very impulses.

"Then, what the fuck?" Shego snarls; I can feel my hands clenching at my sides. Once that asshole departs, we'll simply leave, and everything will be fine. I'm not obligated to wring his brittle pencil-neck.

"We accept all sorts of violent activity, as is consistent with a rating system that we've appropriated for reasons totally beyond my comprehension." He raises his fingers, beginning to count vapidly upon them as he continues. "You're free to render beheadings, mutilations, dismemberment, acid-disintegration, and evisceration. You can even include sexual violence, so long as there's no graphic illustration of penetration. Oh, yes, and pedophilia." A pause. "Assuming, of course, that-"

"No one actually sees the act in graphic detail?" Shego offers ominously.

"Exactly." He nods. His smile vanishes as she approaches, claws extended to extraordinary length.

"So, everything kind, and consensual, and redeeming?" Shego's voice is an animalistic growl.

"Sorry." He seems eager to flee, bowing vaguely again as he eases toward the door. He apparently isn't familiar with Shego or her agility, as it snaps closed again in an instant. She presents him with a savage grin, her plasma field a momentous, radiant cloak of roiling energy. "Um, what are you doing?"

"Just availing myself of the one choice left."


End file.
